Worry

Olde English Spelling Bee; 2010

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Upon releasing their debut album a short time ago, New Jersey's Big Troubles released a statement announcing their break up. This later transpired to be a joke started by band member Sam Franklin-- also of Ridgewood's Fluffy Lumbers and Ducktails. The statement poked fun at the increasingly common dramas of so-serious touring bands, and although November was a little late for an April Fools gag, Big Troubles do things on their own time.

The band initially comes across as a retro act. They open their debut album, Worry, with "Video Rock", pitching them right back into the early 1990s with the VHS name drop and the four-track recorded guitars on maximum gain. The blown-speakers lo-fi sound gives them an attention-grabbing aesthetic and pulls them close to their forebears, lending the guitars an intensity and warmth that recalls shoegaze's noisiest moments. The most obvious nod to the original dream poppers comes with the drum stutter that ushers in "Video Rock", tipping its hat to the first few seconds of Loveless.

Despite this, Big Troubles shouldn't be slotted into the same bracket as the numerous My Bloody Valentine imitators. For one, they seem more intent on sculpting would-be anthems than soundscapes-- most of the songs run under three minutes, and outer-space closer "Astrology Screen Savers" seems epic at almost four. Debut single "Freudian Slips" covers itself in glory, with a churning beat and huge guitar riff and vocals that slip just beneath its rough surface. While the ragged sound is more crumpled bubblegum wrapper than pop, it doesn't disguise the promise at work. "Bite Yr Tongue" is similarly irresistible, with a crooning vocal carried along by fuzzy guitars that add a layer of static that threatens to detune the entire picture.

At first, it's exciting to chase the melodies through all the noisy wormholes, but this ultimately becomes an exhausting pursuit. The brash production tends to keep the album sounding one-dimensional, and what makes the record so alluring at first becomes a honey trap. In less gritty surroundings, the songwriting might shine even brighter, and this nagging frustration isn't helped by frontloaded sequencing that builds a heady momentum only for the record to fall beneath its own weight as it drags in the second half.

The front cover of Worry shows an assortment of dilapidated furniture and electronics, and Big Troubles take care to give off the same detached vibes, from the fake band break-ups to the beyond-the-red guitars. But in the middle of the clutter are some potent guitar-pop songs. And the strength of this core suggests that next time Big Troubles don't need to lean so hard on the stylistic trappings that limit the scope of Worry.